


Sins of the Father

by Devils_Open



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Alcohol, Aphrodisiacs, Father/Son Incest, Grooming Fetish, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Pet Names, Underage Rape/Non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:54:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25397224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Devils_Open/pseuds/Devils_Open
Summary: Eli is a problem, but Ocelot is not without a solution.
Relationships: Liquid Snake/Venom Snake
Comments: 10
Kudos: 18





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> *Ocelot voice* “I’ve had drug... resistance training”

One week ago, five military issue V-22 Osprey aircrafts carried a demobilized piece of unmanned mecha from Kabul, Afghanistan, to an off-shore base in Seychelles. As the mission report reads: it was deposited on the R&D platform with no incident, at scientist Huey Emmerich’s request, and showed no signs of influence from its former operators. It’s presence is an eyesore, but nothing that could possibly throw a wrench in standard operations.   
In reality, however, procuring the symbol of one man’s desire to induce global chaos via the threat of excessive nuclear armament brought a parasite to Mother Base. It’s presence is only alluded to by the hiss of his gas mask when he hovers nearby, and he values not a single adult soldier on base.   
He did, however, latch onto the boss’ illegitimate twelve year old son. It’s not common knowledge, but their collective hatred made for a dangerous concoction of aggravated determination, and raw, unprecedented power. 

Working in tandem, they boarded the bipedal, mobilized tank unit and attempted to stow away. The vessel itself can hover at certain heights and for an unspecified length of time, and is armed with more firepower than they could possibly know what to do with. All things considered, they picked one hell of an escape vehicle.   
As if it would be an end to the rescued children’s insolent uprising considering how Eli is their leader, Revolver Ocelot was fine with this. He saw it coming a mile away, perhaps not exactly the way it happened, but he anticipated Eli’s abrupt departure long before the kid ever even set foot on base. He’s not the type to be contained, and he wasn’t meant to be; it’s a trait he’s inherited from his father with intention. His real father, that is, not the quiet man who rules Mother Base now with less than an iron fist. 

He was ready to let Eli go, and to let him take the ST-84 Metal Gear with him, because what use would Diamond Dogs have with such an extravagant addition to their arsenal? Mother Base in and of itself was never meant to grow so large, it was only a smokescreen, a base of operations for the phantom until the boss could safely come out of hiding.   
What changed the game was a shift inside of the phantom himself, one that neither Big Boss or Ocelot had intended when they tore him apart and pieced him back together again, their very own frankenstein gone asunder. 

Miller’s hesitancy to issue punishment to the boys, to squash their uprising before it could get off the ground, was what enabled Eli in the first place, and what brought about a need for such an untimely departure. And the boss sympathizing with each boy, including Eli, enough to venture where he wasn’t required to go and at their whim, bothered Ocelot just as much. Miller’s verdict was a thorn in his backside but the boss himself was never meant to allow personal feelings into the equation - they didn’t program him that way - and yet here they are.   
Somehow, the boss talked down Mother Base’s very own Nyoka ya mpembe from leaving with the newly obtained Metal Gear “Sahelanthropus.” But not without casualties. The scuffle between them ended the life of more than a dozen soldiers, and nearly the boss himself, which would have never happened had he simply let the boy go. His newfound emotional attachment simply wouldn’t allow it.

Big Boss would have let him go, Ocelot knows that for a fact. The phantom was supposed to be his perfect clone. If Ocelot’s hypnotherapy had been performed correctly, Snake would have let the boy go too, uncaring as to whether he lived or died on his own. He was conditioned to loathe his sons - those clones of Big Boss, so renowned by specialists in the field of genetic engineering - and yet for one, he went off-script, developed feelings, even, as it appears. 

The phantom doesn’t yet know that he’s a mere decoy, and Ocelot is burdened with remembering everything during those nine years, despite his best efforts. He is now in the aftermath, post-fact, with every bit of knowledge that wasn’t supposed to be his just yet. And he’s watching his own mock-boss meander about, doting after an insufferable boy rather than furthering his own private army and continuing Big Boss’ legacy. He is at a loss. 

“All of this is because _you_ didn’t act fast enough.” 

“Fine,” Miller says. “I’ll admit you were right this time.” 

Ocelot sighs. “Seal off the kids’ quarters from outside contact before we’re too late. _Again_. Eli said his rebellion would start when the last kid was brought back, right? You knew this was bound to happen, you could have stopped it.”   
He turns to Venom, who’s been all but silent the entire meeting, “Boss, if you’re intent on letting Eli out even after all of this, then you’d better be ready to meet him, _head on_. We lost a lot of good men attempting to help you talk him down. This’d better pay off.” 

“You don’t have to worry about Eli retaliating. He won’t be returning to the staff quarters.” 

To this, both Miller and Ocelot give the boss an incredulous look. Ocelot’s is one bordering on a glare, however, because he knows _exactly_ what the boss means. Neither Miller nor Snake miss the quiet scoff under his breath. 

“Excuse me? Boss, what do you mean? Are you saying we should throw him in the brig over this?” 

“No, nothing like that. I talked with Eli. He’s agreed to stay with me until some of the heat from his little stunt blows over.” 

_“Blows over?”_ Ocelot chimes in. “He killed a dozen—!“ he stops himself, as if bordering on something insubordinate. “You know what? Fine. You have my support, boss, whatever you decide. I just hope you know what you’re doing.” 

It’s times like this that Ocelot wishes he could contact the real Big Boss, that they could convene, discuss what’s going on, because his direction always feels safe, familiar. The boss he has now is nothing like the man he’s devoted the last few decades of his life to. 

“Are you telling me I’m in over my head, Shalashaska?” 

“No, boss. You’re right.” Once again, he doles out useless platitudes, because the new boss is so passive that they actually _work_. “I’ll see myself out. You let me know if anything changes.” 

He’s gone as quickly as he utters the last word, leaving Miller and the boss alone with one another. Miller isn’t too sure he understands what Venom is doing, or the ‘why’ of it all, but not in a million years would he go against his word. Unlike Ocelot, he has no ulterior motives, only blind devotion. 

There’s likely a parallel to be spoken of between Miller’s feelings towards the boss, and Venom’s own with Eli. It’s not one which either of them wish to address, and perhaps both situations have a unique level of irony that make them incomparable. Point still stands, his desires are synonymous with the boss’ own.

“Boss, those boys don’t deserve to face any punishment for Eli’s actions, he alone is responsible. Personally, I don’t think Eli should either. I was the one who filed his retrieval op as DDR, after all, I know what our goal is with him. But the men…” Miller’s tone is solemn, sympathetic for his men feeling the loss of their comrades, and for Eli himself, an angry boy with no one to set him straight, “they won’t be so understanding. I’ll do my best to put out some of the fires this sparked, but you know I can’t control morale. They’ll need a word from _you_.” 

“Tell them that Eli’s had a change of heart, that he’s staying with me as an issue of punishment. Make something up.” Venom shakes his head, for once indifferent towards his men, and all for a boy he’s only known for a few weeks. Miller doesn’t see his apathy for what it is. “It doesn’t matter either way,” he says. “You can’t control public opinions, not here. If they’re bent on justice, they’ll seek it out.” 

“Alright. I’ll certainly do what I can.” Miller stands, gripping his crutch. “I know my word isn’t worth much, I suppose the rest of me isn’t either,” he chuckles at his own self-deprecating comment when Venom doesn’t, “but for what it’s worth, I support what you’re doing with these boys. You know how my life was before Diamond Dogs, before MSF. I understand their pain. We can be better than those who raised us.” 

Venom gives him a curt nod, pressing pause on the cassette tape they tend to keep running during meetings. “This doesn’t need to be on record. The paternity tests came back negative, but Eli’s no stranger to me, whether he’s blood or not. I know why he was acting strange during our flight to OKB-Zero, it’s because he knew I was doubting him. His uprising wouldn’t have gotten so bad so quickly if I hadn’t. I won’t push him away anymore.”

Miller seems to pause on his words for a brief moment, eventually pulling himself into the boss’ personal space, and clapping him on the shoulder. His emotional gestures are watered-down these days, but even he can’t help but to smile. “That’s why you're the best, boss, the one and only. You always do what’s right. The boys are nothing without their leader to unite them, so If you can manage it, help him change his ways. Familial ties are an odd angle to play but if it helps Eli find some peace with his circumstances, then go right ahead. I know you’re doing what’s best for Diamond Dogs.” 

Venom wills a brief, tight-lipped smile in reciprocation. “Eli won’t be an issue from here on out, he knows what he’s done. You can tell R&D that there shouldn’t be any facility repairs any time soon.” 

“Of course, boss,” Miller says. “That’s what I like to hear.” 

Venom isn’t ignorant, nor oblivious. He is well aware that hatred and vengeance aren’t concepts that can be done away with using kind words, or gentle redirecting. 

That’s what surprised him about Eli, though, because he found himself to be quite wrong on that front. 

Twelve years of plotting revenge - a short amount of time, cosmically speaking, but a lifetime nonetheless for Eli - and it all dissipated seemingly overnight. What it took was a great deal of casualties and a benign, but gentle talking-to from Venom. It’s unimaginable; life-altering grudges and solid convictions simply knocked down in the blink of an eye at one man’s word. It came as a surprise to Venom too, but in the moment it all just felt _right_. It took a mere handful of instances in which intuition dictated that the boy needed more than a beating or a stiff hand upside the head, but a kind touch. Something he’d never felt. Something akin to support, acceptance, even, despite his rage. It was one hell of a gamble, but Venom’s attempts at a more familial relationship with the boy likely saved Mother Base. It certainly prevented Metal Gear from being stolen and Eli running off to some godforsaken land where he’d never be seen again. Venom wouldn’t fare too well if that happened. 

Eli has been staying in Venom’s personal quarters for over forty-eight hours now; he’s had more than enough time to adjust. He’s been all but glued to Venom’s bed the entire time, plus becoming rather closely acquainted with his shower, though only when Venom is around to softly knead the suds into his skin. As a father and son do.   
Venom only returns to his own room at the end of the day, typically at some ungodly hour of the morning. For Eli, though, he’s been keeping close enough that he’s walking through the threshold every few hours, and never too late to have a shared meal with the kid, or a bath. It’s enough that even the staff can see - the boss and Eli have become _inseparable_. Quite a stark contrast to what they were only a week ago. 

Venom heads back to his quarters after the meeting with Miller and Ocelot, and finds Eli sitting on the floor staring up at nothing when he enters. He’s muttering something the boss can’t make out. 

Venom hears a muted hissing, and sees a flash of ginger-red and black. He saw it once at Cyprus, and again at the devil’s house, and felt its presence when Skull Face finally met his demise on the wrong end of a single-barrel, but never at Mother Base. 

Eli turns around wide-eyed, clearly surprised at Venom’s abrupt entry. 

“Who were you just talking to?” 

“No one,” Eli says, though he sounds agitated. He stands up and strides towards the bathroom without sparing his father another glance. He slams the door. 

Venom, of course, follows. However he knocks this time. 

When he receives no answer, he opens the door to find Eli pushing back the shower curtain. He turns on the water, sitting on the wall of the bathtub and narrowing his eyes at the boss. He looks upset about something, but still, his gaze is expectant. 

Venom knows exactly what he wants. It’s become an unspoken bonding ritual, even more of an excuse on Eli’s end to avoid confrontation.

Eli throws his arms up above his head without being told to, and the boss pulls his shirt off, his shorts soon following. It was an ordeal persuading him to wear an actual shirt rather than his trademark coat, but he gave in quickly to his father’s suggestion. The only thing he hasn’t done yet is wear underwear, but neither of them are complaining about that. 

Even despite their newfound closeness, Eli is a creature with no guidelines, and Venom’s never experienced fatherhood before. His own men look up to him as a renowned leader, but that’s the extent of it. There’s no playbook on adjusting to a new son, especially when that son hates his guts and has made multiple attempts on his life. Venom’s taking it by year. 

He lets Eli slide into the warm water and begins running his hands over the small expanse of his back, washing away grime and kneading out those stress knots twelve years in the making. Eli’s head begins to lull, right up until Venom breaks the silence. 

“There will be an uproar over what you and your boys did. Miller’s on my side, but he’s the only one.” 

Eli huffs, and crosses his arms. Venom can’t see his face but he’s sure the boy is pouting.

“My men stopped me on my way here. They asked about you and your punishment.” 

“I don’t care.” 

“I’m not telling you this because I think that you care, Eli, but because you should. You’re solely responsible for what happened. You don’t get to walk away from this.” 

“You’re their boss!” Eli suddenly shouts. “You can make them do whatever you want! Tell them they can stuff their complaints up their—“ 

“ _Eli_ ,” Venom warns. Despite his threat of a verbal scolding, his hands in Eli’s hair remain gentle. Eli’s had enough roughness in his life. Venom won’t contribute. 

Eli hunches over as if hugging himself, still crossing his arms. His voice is very small. “You said you forgave me, that you’d always support me. I thought you— I mean... Why do _they_ get to do and say things but I can’t? I don’t care what they think, I just want to be left alone.” _With you,_ Eli thinks, but he won’t dare say that part. 

Venom’s reach expands to Eli’s front. He wraps his arms around the boy’s small torso and rubs soothingly across his chest with warm, wet hands, pulling him backward into an embrace. He doesn’t mind the slick, naked body steadily soaking his shirt. 

“The value of their word doesn’t outweigh yours. You’re still mine,” he conveys his adoration lowly into Eli’s ear. “They’ll find someone new to follow, someone who’s word is palpable over mine. War is temporary, armies disband, countries are moving past the need for ramshackle PFs like us. You and I are blood, and that can’t be changed. But you won’t shift responsibility to anyone else for what happened. The blame is on you, Eli.” 

He isn’t rubbing salt in the wound, but acceptance is moving on. He won’t allow Eli to believe his actions to be justified, because he wants him to heal, and that means a little discomforting acknowledgement of past offenses. Guilt is something Eli’s likely never known. 

Eli is silent for a moment. His hands briefly graze across Venom’s thick arms wrapped around his chest, as if to hold him in return, but he ultimately lets them fall to his lap. He sighs. “I understand, father.” 

Venom isn’t sure that he does. He can never tell what Eli has going on behind his face, or how he’s interpreting an exchange. The boy speaks often - far too much and generally out of turn, depending on who you ask - but when it comes to matters of the heart, he closes up. Venom can’t decide if it stems from Eli not believing himself to be worthy of anything intimate, or if he simply doesn’t know how to handle any sense of vulnerability. Neither is a comforting thought in any case. 

The rest of Eli’s bath is silent. Venom runs fresh, hot water over his head to rinse out hair product, careful to cover his eyes with one palm to avoid burning. He dries him off gingerly, and Eli doesn’t protest when he scoops him up in both arms and carries him to their as-of-now shared bed.   
He debates on putting him down so early, but a glance at the clock tells him that it’s almost 10:00 p.m. It’s not as though he’s set a bedtime for Eli, but he knows that growing boys need sleep. Especially one who can’t seem to balance exercise and rest, nor nutritional habits on his own. Venom doesn’t need a playbook on fathering to tell him that. 

He peels back layers of comforter and lets Eli’s small body curl up beneath each one. It isn’t until he plants a soft kiss to the boy’s forehead and goes to leave that Eli grabs his arm, finally breaking the silence. 

“You're not staying?” He glances around almost nervously, _bashful_. “I thought… y-you know...” 

Venom chuckles and sits on the edge of the bed as Eli shifts into an upright position. A smile dares to pull at his lips, looking at his father with anticipation radiating off of him. His demeanor is something shy, yet bubbly, excited for what’s to come but still anxious because of what it entails, how new it is for him. 

He screws his eyes shut as Venom finally grabs his face, thumbs sliding over the high rise of his cheekbones. He feels lips on his own and his father’s scratchy beard, and melts into the touch instantly. 

Venom’s lips move in a way that Eli’s never experienced. His tongue is an odd, intrusive presence when it slips into his mouth, too big to work around but not exactly _bad_. Eli just can’t quite get the hang of it all. He’s an eager learner, though. Venom is always the one to pull away first as Eli sometimes forgets that he does need to breathe, and ends up a gasping, panting mess beneath his father in under a few minutes. The enthusiasm of his son makes Venom smile but he knows the boy needs a break, and as far as he’s concerned, his well-being comes first. Even if he could spend all night conveying his love in such numerous ways.

Their lips move in tandem, teeth clanking uncomfortably, tongues exploring with caution. It isn’t until Eli takes it upon himself to try crawling into his father’s lap that Venom pulls away. He pushes Eli back down, kissing his cheek. 

“That’s enough, honey. I have to go.” His voice is sickeningly sweet, and only eggs on Eli’s feverish display. 

“But _father_...” Eli drags out the title in a whiny tone. 

He’s never sure what he should do with his hands when they have moments like this, but that doesn’t stop him from moving experimentally.  
He reaches forward and clutches Venom’s broad chest, and the display is almost cute in its desperation. That is, until he bites his lip, working up the nerve to snake a hand down to his father’s groin, ever curious. He digs his palm in a little too roughly, prompting Venom to hiss. Venom grabs his hands and gently pulls them away despite his blood pumping at the gesture. 

“No, not tonight. You need to rest,” he says sternly, but his breathy demeanor dictates that he wants otherwise. 

The one thing about Eli which Venom never anticipated was his neediness. He’s bordering on clingy, even, and Venom really can’t say that he doesn’t enjoy it. It’s incessant and often at the most inappropriate of times, but it causes his heart to swell at every instance. 

Eli’s short arms wrap around Venom’s neck, and it takes him sitting up on his knees to do so. “I want you to— to do what you did last time.” Once again, he can’t quite articulate what he wants. Instead, he attempts straddling Venom’s lap again, and that’s when the boss pushes him against the bed, tucking a blanket around his body before he can protest. 

Venom sighs, wishing he could stay. “That’s enough, Eli.” He tries to place a kiss on Eli’s forehead, but he turns away with a frown. He kisses his cheek instead. “Goodnight.” 

The boss leaves, and Eli finds a growing ache in his stomach more than enough to keep him restless. 

—

There was a time when Big Boss and Ocelot were all that each other had. He’s a man with more enemies than allies, and after the incident nine years ago, that was especially true. The times demanded diligence, and Ocelot had to put his personal feelings aside to follow what the real Big Boss demanded; he would stick by the phantom’s side, whether he wanted to or not. That was all well and good, because Ocelot’s very own self-hypnotherapy blacked out the parts of his mind that differentiated Big Boss and the punished phantom. Things changed when his own hypnosis wore off, and then he became the only person alive to see falsities between the real deal and his phantom. It’s been maddening trying to pretend as though he’s not agitated. 

At first, Ocelot was sure there was little he could do. Accepting that his verdict was too little too late was a hard feat to achieve, but he managed. It wasn’t until recently that he decided he had to make a change if the phantom wouldn’t find it in himself to do so. He’s simply been waiting for the right opportunity.   
Eli’s abrupt leave would have been perfect, had the boss allowed it. But of course, he fancies himself a father now, contrary to his body’s own delegation on the matter, which makes Eli enemy number one in Ocelot’s book. A usurper to the throne, pissing on what would one day be his. Ocelot loathes the cocky little shit. 

It isn’t until he sees the boss walking alone after dark - no doubt having just come back from coddling his new boy-toy - that he gets an idea of how to solve this little problem. He approaches the boss with as much placid support and honesty as he can manage. 

“Boss, over here.” Ocelot waves Venom over from an upper level. He’s located on the second floor, and his quarters are the only situated on this section of the building. He’s hard to miss. 

The phantom approaches Ocelot, who’s leaning against a railing outside of the entrance to his room. He greets the boss casually. “You’re out late,” he says curiously. 

“Kaz thought I should make a statement to the men over what happened with Eli,” he informs. “Men are usually in the chow hall by now, It’s as good a place as any.” 

“That makes sense. Our boys do love a word or two from their boss. If you ask me, though, Miller’s wrong. I think you deserve a break from all of the discourse.” He tilts his head towards the door leading to his quarters. “Come have a drink with me. What do you say?” 

Ocelot knows what his answer will be right off the bat. He hears the words leave Venom’s mouth before his lips even begin to move. 

“The men need a proper addressal of what happened. Eli shouldn’t be without supervision, either,” he says curtly. “Not tonight.” 

Ocelot nods sagely. “It’s only natural you’d be eager to get back to him,” he says. “I want to apologize though, boss. I spoke out of turn during the meeting with Miller. It’s not my place to judge what you do with our staff here and I understand that Eli is somewhat of an anomaly. Let me make it up to you, just one drink.” His lips pull back, revealing a humored grin. “I promise I won’t let you stay _too_ long.” 

Venom isn’t exactly the perceptive type, not nearly as much as Big Boss, at least. His gaze lingers on Ocelot for a brief moment but he doesn’t scruitanize. “Just one drink.” 

Ocelot’s smile develops an actual sincerity, despite himself. “I knew you’d come around.” He opens the door to his quarters and beckons the boss inside. 

The interior of Ocelot’s room is simplistic. Not an air of minimalism to it, nor modernity, considering the unfortunate brutalist visage of Mother Base as a whole, but it has few amenities; namely a single bed, naturally, along with a display case donning polished revolvers, and a breakfast table with two chairs. Minute details set aside, it doesn’t exactly feel like a place Ocelot would choose to live in. 

He gestures to one of the chairs. “Make yourself at home.” 

“I can’t stay long.” 

“Of course,” Ocelot says, but he certainly doesn’t rush himself to the booze cabinet. 

He rifles around as Venom sits down, who crosses his arms over his chest impatiently. 

“Boss, have you ever tried _Pincer Shanghai Vodka_?” He turns towards Venom, showing off a pitch-black bottle with seductive cursive on its label. No doubt meant to distract from the many warnings on its backside. “The name implies that it would be Chinese, but it’s actually Scottish. It’s herbal, you see, made from Elderflower and Milk Thistle. The ingredients were once used as a medicine for liver support. Kind of ironic, if you ask me.” 

The boss’ eyes flick between him and the bottle. He grunts in acknowledgment, tense, no doubt antsy to get back to his planned excursions for the night. 

“I don’t break this out with just anybody.” Ocelot turns to the small cabinet and pulls out two glasses. He pours his first, then Venom’s. “It’s hard to find good liquor around here, and they don’t make 'em like they used to, certainly not at the same rates. Select occasions aside, a drink like this isn’t for casual consumption.” 

“What’s the occasion?” Venom leans, attempting to see over Ocelot’s shoulder. He’s not suspicious of anything, but curious as to why Ocelot’s dallying. He wants to hurry this along. 

Ocelot chuckles. “Let’s call it a reinstatement of my loyalty.” 

He swiftly procures a vial from his pocket. It’s an extract he often keeps along with his arsenal of sedatives and cyanides, but nothing so damaging. It’s something lesser than what he uses for torture, yet he doesn’t dish it out carelessly; odorless, semi-transparent, perfect for covert use, it’s most definitely a favorite when the need for its symptoms arises. He empties it into the boss’ drink and stirs it with his pinky finger, giving it but a second to absorb.   
This aphrodisiac warrants a speech of his own, it puts the 88.8% alcohol content of the liquor they’re sharing to shame, and for good reason. It’s the strongest aphrodisiac that Ocelot’s ever personally come across, and the only one in his possession that he hasn’t used on himself, though he’s watched it turn men into beasts. It’s plant-based, none of that FDA-approved synthetic crap that most around the world know of today. It packs a punch ten times worse than meager viagra. 

He turns and joins Venom at the table, taking a seat and handing over the second glass. He raises his. “To Diamond Dogs,” he says. “I’ll never doubt you again, boss.” 

Venom is the first to drink, and Ocelot soon thereafter. Ocelot can’t help the satisfaction that threatens to puff up his chest. 

“I know you’re eager to get back, but tell me,” Ocelot begins, “after everything that happened, what makes you so sure you can reign in this boy of yours? Eli isn’t the type to be so easily convinced one way or another, I can’t imagine reconditioning would be easy.” 

Venom sloshes his drink a bit. “He wasn’t meant for reconditioning, we tried that. What the boy needs is freedom.” 

Ocelot’s eye twitches. “Freedom…” he says, denying himself the urge to grit his teeth. “I suppose that could be warranted. We’ve all but kept him locked up since he got here. He didn’t leave us with many options on the matter but if you think he’d benefit, then I’d support your decision.” 

Venom hums in agreement. 

Ocelot lets his own curiosities fly, knowing he’s already achieved his goal. “What does he know of the DNA test? I’m not sure what he told you, but I never explicitly informed him of what we were doing. He was alone in my office for a bit, come to think of it.” Ocelot tilts his head contemplatively. “It's not unlikely that he’d snoop through my things. He could’ve found a clue or two, it certainly wouldn’t have been difficult.” 

“I’m not sure.” The boss sighs. He’s clearly upset by the thought that Eli may know of their lack of relation. Ocelot eats up every micro-expression denoting his feelings about it all. “He made it out like he knew everything from the start. I should’ve been more careful, he’s more perceptive than I thought. The blame is on me.” 

“You give yourself too much credit, boss.” Ocelot takes a swig of his drink. “Eli won’t be easy to sway, but he’ll come around.” He reaches over, letting one hand fall on Venom’s thigh as casually as ever. “You’re better at this than you think. Being a father isn’t easy, but you’re doing one hell of a job.” 

Venom’s demeanor shifts. His gaze on Ocelot’s hand isn’t so content as it would be; he doesn’t see the advance for what it is, but he feels it as a shiver up his spine, a growing ache in his guts. Ocelot stifles his grin at the visible change in attitude. His special addition to the boss’ drink is working, albeit sooner than he anticipated even despite how potent he knows it to be. Ocelot doesn’t acknowledge the silence that’s beginning to overtake the boss. 

“Though I’ll admit, I don’t envy you. I couldn’t have done what you did myself. Talking him down like that,” he pulls his hand back, gesturing vaguely, “it wasn’t like anything I’d seen before. I’d put the credit where it’s due and say your intuition made it all so easy, but that can’t possibly be it.” 

Ocelot makes a point to lean closer, lowering his tone. “What about him made you so hellbent on correcting his behavior? Did something... _specific_ draw you in?” 

Venom looks so lost in thought, he almost forgets to respond. “Eli is—“ he pauses abruptly, repositioning as if uncomfortable.

There’s a few things that should be occurring inside of his body right now, mostly hormone-centered, but a great deal is psychological. The chemical structure of the aphrodisiac promotes muscle relaxation and blood flow, and pushes testosterone levels through the roof. It’s enough to ignite a fire under any man’s loins. Sure, the physiological effects are strong, but Ocelot’s playing at a different angle. The aphrodisiac itself may as well have been an added bonus.   
The man he knows to be the real Big Boss is what could best be described as a violent, belligerent drunk, and one that doesn’t take no for an answer. Mother Base soldiers are lucky they weren’t around during the days of MSF nine years ago, because that boss was never easy on his men. Ocelot wasn’t around but he stayed in contact, and he didn’t exactly need those drunken radio calls from his one-time flame to know what he was up to, and who he was fucking. He probably sent more men to the medical tents in drunken fits than their enemies could ever hope to.

He made sure to keep that in mind when he was installing all of those fake memories and experiences into the new boss. He’s a phantom, meant to shadow Big Boss, and to be as indistinguishable from the real deal as possible. Even details so minute as drunken habits had to be ingrained. The only issue was that some innate facets of ‘Ahab’ couldn’t be stifled so easily, and it turns out this phantom simply doesn’t drink, and it’s likely that he didn’t before slipping into a coma. Ocelot would almost feel bad for him, considering how he’s given the man more in one sitting than he’s likely had in over ten years. He can’t imagine the aphrodisiac not exacerbating the effects of the alcohol. He needs to make sure that Eli is the next person he sees; there’s likely enough angst there already, it shouldn’t take much for things to escalate. It should be enough to run the kid off for good. There won’t be another instance of the boss convincing him to stand down when the trust between them is broken. 

As hardy as Eli appears, what he’s dealt with thus far has been an admittedly laughable far cry from the real boss. Big Boss wouldn’t have realigned the kid’s arm after dislocating it, and that’s assuming a near break was the most he would’ve done. If Ocelot knows him, and he does better than most, Eli would’ve wound up dead long ago. 

When Venom ultimately doesn’t continue, Ocelot speaks for him. “Boss, you seem preoccupied.” He addles his tone with concern. 

Venom takes a shaky breath. His voice is more gravelly than usual. “It’s nothing.” 

“You’re tense, I get it. Why not have another drink?” 

He doesn’t wait for Venom’s pitiful attempt at a protest before he gets up and snatches the bottle. He’s refilling the boss’ glass full to the brim, leaving virtually no room and letting it spill over. 

Venom eyes it and looks to be second-guessing the whole situation, but Ocelot can tell that dawning discomfort beneath the surface verging on incessant is spurring him onward. He downs half the glass in just one go. 

Ocelot smiles. 

He places the bottle on the table between them, lid still unscrewed. 

“So, you were saying?” To Venom’s look of loss, he elaborates. “I asked what about Eli drew you in. Something about the kid strike your fancy?” 

The boss’ labored breaths put a pause between every other word. “He’s just a boy to me, one that clearly needs help.” He grimaces, repositioning his legs. 

“That surprises me. I thought you considered him family. What changed?” 

“Nothing. I still see him as my own. The tests didn’t prove anything. The boy—“ he swallows hard; sweat’s beginning to bead down his brow, “— needs a father. I’ll be there for him however I can be.” 

Ocelot motions for Venom to present his glass, and refills it, despite being a quarter of the way down. Once again brimming over, the boss has no choice but to drink a portion right off the bat. Ocelot can see his hands trembling. 

“That’s selfless of you, boss, though I suppose that sort of attitude shouldn’t really surprise me.” He quirks a brow at Venom. “How exactly are things when you two are alone? I’m sure the boy’s completely opened up to you by now. It must be different from how he acts in front of others.” 

Venom looks off to the right, as if thinking back to something. He pulls at his collar, adam’s apple bobbing. “No. He’s still adjusting to a few things.” 

“To what, exactly?” 

“Physical contact. He’s not used to vulnerability.”

Ocelot lets his tone lower, lingering on suggestiveness, though the boss doesn’t see that as the intention. It certainly serves its purpose, however.

“You haven’t tried forcing him to open up a little?”

Venom looks him in the eye, and it seems to be a beckon for aid, or just a conveyance of his severe discomfort. He breathlessly queries. “What do you mean?” 

“Think of him as an enemy, in the physical sense. You subdue him, and he’s yours. Disarmament comes with demobilization. If you back him into a corner, he’ll kick and fight until he’s free, we know that already. But if you try clipping his wings a little, the kid’s bound to give up after a while.” Venom looks beyond comprehension of Ocelot’s vague generalizations. He simplifies. “Stop giving him outs, boss. You think he needs freedom, but freedom has to come from restriction first. Show him you mean business and when he finally submits, take away every hold barred. He’ll be more thankful after the fact.” 

The boss stares at his glass and blinks dazedly a few times. He can hardly catch his breath, his lungs pulling slow, ragged sighs at an uneven pace, voice deepening substantially. He’s beginning to sound more like the real Big Boss. “You’re saying he doesn’t know what’s best for himself?” 

“In a sense. What he needs is coercion more than force. I’m not implying you do anything he won’t like, just think of it as a preemptive gesture, even if he doesn’t like it at first, he will. It’s only a precursor to his acceptance, and you can give him all the freedom you want when it’s all said and done. He’ll be grateful you showed him the right way.” 

Venom nods, though in no position to argue either way. He repositions again, propping an ankle on one knee at an awkward angle and pressing his thighs together tightly, his hands over his lap. Even a blind man could tell he’s trying to hide a hard-on. 

Just talking about the kid’s been enough to get him up, it seems. 

Ocelot thinks it funny, almost, how they’ve been speaking in general terms, and yet they both know exactly what he means. The boss is likely not registering that fact, however. When he looks back on this, he’ll scold himself for being the one to assign inappropriate connotations to their exchange. For all he knows, Ocelot’s meaning has been completely innocent. 

As if to make it all the more worse - just for his own pleasure - Ocelot places his hand on Venom’s thigh once again. He curls his fingers inwardly this time, venturing to the boss’ inner thigh. He watches the muscles in Venom’s jaw flex as he grits his teeth. 

“You’re good to him, boss, I can tell,” Ocelot says, voice as sultry as possible. “It’s endearing. You two seem inseparable. I know you’ll make a fine role-model for the kid.” 

There’s a pregnant pause between them. Venom’s composure seems to break as he lets his gaze linger on Ocelot’s hand, so obviously fevered that it’s almost painful to watch. He opens his mouth to speak, but Ocelot cuts him off before he ends up saying something he can’t come back from. 

“I think I’ve wasted enough of your time. You have things to do, I understand.” He pulls his hand back and makes a show of looking over to the wall-mounted clock, despite knowing exactly how long they’ve been sitting here. He clicks his tongue. “Damn It. I’m sorry, boss, I guess I lost track of time.” 

Venom’s head almost makes to turn towards the clock, but his eyes are glued to Ocelot’s lips. Ocelot doesn’t mind it. 

His gaze seems glazed over and yet precisely focused, zeroed-in on what he craves but ultimately checked out. Hormones are finally at the helm, and that’s exactly what Ocelot wants. The boss looks positively fevered, flushed in the face. 

“It’s just about too late to give that addressal you wanted.” He gives a believable sound of frustration, lowly cursing himself. “I really am sorry. You’d be better off getting back to Eli anyways, right?” 

Venom leans in close, and Ocelot’s sure it’s involuntary. “I don’t have to go anywhere,” he says flatly. 

The matter-of-factness laden in his tone is enough to shake Ocelot, it’s as if he’s been possessed by Big Boss himself.

Ocelot chuckles. “Sure you do, boss.” 

He stands, and Venom abruptly reaches to catch the loose hem of his shirt as if to pull him right back down. Ocelot tactfully dodges the attempted advance and makes like it never happened. His expression is neutral. “You should go. I’m sure Eli is lonely without you. I can’t imagine what a boy his age could get up to left alone, much less in _your_ bed.” He opens the door for Venom, gesturing outward. “Go ahead, I’ll see you in the morning, boss.” 

Venom is slow to stand. He approaches, and his demeanor seems to darken. Ocelot keeps his cool, however. He knows the boss has his priorities straight, and despite Ocelot’s own attempts against it, he’s aware that he’s been demoted to a lower place on the totem pole of sexual partners. 

“Come see me in the morning. I’m curious to know how things go between you and Eli.” Venom steps outside and Ocelot stands in the doorway, hip cocked against the threshold. He’s exuding more smugness than he should, but the boss won’t remember this. “I’m sure you’ll have him straightened out by then, am I right?” 

Venom grunts. Ocelot doesn’t give him the chance to reply. 

“Goodnight, Boss.” He closes the door, locking it just as fast. 

Ocelot’s words are a distant echo in his mind. He didn’t retain most of the end of that conversation, but a single theme stuck rather persistently; he has to get back to Eli, Ocelot was right. 

Images of what happened in the moments before he left his quarters flash through his mind, and Venom’s knees almost buckle. 

His pale skin so flushed, expression begging for something vile and inappropriate, blond hair disheveled, stuck to his forehead by bathwater and sweat. The image is intoxicating, as close to watching porn as Venom can get despite not having seen so much as a nudie mag in ages. He chases the high of every memory of the boy he can reel in, until they all fade with hazy drunkenness.   
He lazily stumbles down the stairs of Ocelot’s office building until he remembers exactly where he’s going - to whom he’s about to see - and a certain determination suddenly overcomes him. 

He beelines back to his quarters, not a coherent thought in his mind besides the image of Eli strewn across his bed


	2. Escape of the Son

A small insect flutters its wings on the wall. Eli pulls the covers up to his chin, eyeing it through the darkness of the room. 

It tells him things he shouldn’t know, whispering in a broken tongue about men Eli hasn’t met, some he has. They have about the same level of understanding towards one another; neither can speak in a way that the other fully comprehends, but somehow, intent is always conveyed. 

“What do you mean he’s not good for me?” 

The levitant insect gathers its limbs close to its frail body, shaking its head. 

“Well…” Eli frowns, looking away, “I didn’t know as much back then. He’s changed. My father isn’t the man I thought he was.” 

His creature of burden raises up to the ceiling, staring down at Eli. Eli watches him, his eyes a sad, dulled blue behind his mask. His filters hiss. 

“That’s stupid! I don’t need your protection, I can take care of myself. And besides— my father would never hurt me. What reason would he have for that?” 

As it always has, the small bug withdraws into itself, situated In a far corner, between two adjacent walls. He doesn’t meet Eli’s gaze any longer. He knows he’s spoken all that Eli will hear. 

Though Eli begins to recall things he’s not thought of in ages. 

Memories of drunken soldiers chasing young women around villages probe his mind, begging for revisiting. They each shove a disgusting scent down his throat, something putrid and foul, like liquor. The smell makes him gag. 

“Stop that! It isn’t funny!” 

The memories keep playing on a loop. Torn fabric of hand-sewn dresses being ripped to shreds by greedy hands. Ugly, yellowed grins and cheers of booze being sloshed and spilled. The smell of blood and sweat and alcohol, a man’s musk noxious and sour. 

Eli pulls the covers over his head and clasps a hand over his mouth, trying not to vomit. 

Things he’s never even personally witnessed before plague his mind - women’s screaming, charred, naked flesh piled at the base of a burned village, a man’s disgusting breath hot and humid on a young boy’s pencil-thin neck - and he is nothing to stop them. They pollute the furthest corners of his mind until the possibility of sleep is little to none, done away with as he sees a night of salacious brutality from someone else’s point of view, someone small, meek. Eli wants to retch seeing it. He feels violated by proxy. 

He throws the covers off of his head, shouting. “Get the hell out! You’re such a—“ he palms his temples pulsating with hot waves of pain, “— such a fucking freak! Just go away already!” 

The insect dissipates into flimsy particles that drift up to the ceiling. It’s sounds linger, it’s presence within Eli’s mind staying just the same. Eli thinks that’s all fine and good, just as long as he doesn’t have to stand looking at him any longer. 

The awful memories slink back to wherever horrible place they came from, and Eli’s head is quiet once again. The room is silent. The insect’s hissing even seems to waver. Eli knows he’s around, though. He’s always watching. 

Eli can’t help but wonder why the floating boy would show him such things, and with such a specific theme. It all felt so real, nothing like a film or a comic. Eli’s seen his fair share of brutality on the battlefield, but he’s never actively tried to remember any of it. Adults do things that he doesn’t understand, that’s just the way it is; he sees it and he tries to forget it. That freak must’ve enjoyed watching it all, Eli decides. 

Despite his mind still scrubbing itself clean from the filth of those images, sleep eventually takes him. He helps himself to lungfuls of his father’s scent thoroughly nested within the fibers of his blankets, and the pillows he hugs closely. It serves to relax him like nothing else does. 

Even after all this time of plotting revenge, promising nothing but the worst to his father, he can’t help but to be comforted by his presence. Minor things like the razor on his sink, or his casual clothes neatly hung about, or the soap he uses, all serve to relax Eli, to make him feel protected, close to his father.   
Maybe it’s the new shine of intimacy, or his mind’s own way of making quick amends for the last decade of obsession over an absentee paternal figure, but Eli accepts it nonetheless. He doesn’t have a choice anymore. 

He’s never been much of a dreamer, but sleeping in this bed has given him nothing but pleasant fantasies; some of large hands on his small body, showing him things he doesn’t yet understand, others of the very few decent memories he has, things like calming waters wading against the shore back in Africa - the smell of the jungle, everything humid and warm and laden with the sickly sourness of ripe fruit, but he enjoyed it nonetheless. It was freedom, something he’s always been drawn to. 

He sleeps soundly, dead to the world. It isn’t until a sound at the door wakes him that he finally stirs. 

There’s a ruckus, some clumsy commotion he can’t see that disrupts the room’s silence. 

Eli sits up and rubs his eyes blearily, squinting into the darkness. “Father?” 

A rustling of fabric, belt buckles jangling, dropping to the floor. The thud of boots being tossed and heavy, labored breathing. A gravelly tone cursing at nothing in particular. 

The bed beside him dips as a large presence climbs in next to Eli, and rough hands lay on his shoulders, pushing him back down into the mattress. His body feels ignited. It’s familiar. It’s nothing more than his own father. Eli instantly relaxes. 

He allows himself to become uncharacteristically limp and vulnerable, turning up his chin when he feels a wet tongue glide across his chest, up to his throat, craning his neck to allow more access. He shudders violently. It’s enough to make him feel special, as though he’s being adored and worshipped as much as he knows deep down that he wants to be. 

He’d never admit it, but moments like these are what soothe him; his father’s fascinating and seemingly innate inclination to worship his small body, it confuses Eli, but he wouldn’t wish it away if he could. It makes him feel like more than a follow-up to someone else’s lineage, or a meme reinstated, but a son. _Human_. He whimpers at every touch. 

He reaches out to wrap his arms around his father’s naked chest, but his wrists are quickly pinned to the bed. It’s too rough, and dull nails dig into his skin hard enough that he‘s sure they’ll bruise. 

He squeaks, caught off guard. “F-Father? What are you doing?” 

A rough beard scratches his neck like sandpaper in a way he knows Venom has always been too conscientious to allow. His father huffs hot, heavy air onto his skin, and a foul, overwhelming odor follows. 

“God!” Eli tries to thrash and pull himself free. “You stink like— like booze!” He curls his lip and turns away, but a strong hand jerks him back by the jaw hard enough to give him whiplash. _“Wha—“_

Venom kisses his lips, but Eli keeps his own pressed shut. A knee digs roughly into his side and he gasps, and a fat tongue with a taste that numbs his own pushes inward at the opportunity. It quickly overwhelms him as he chokes around the invasion. 

His father speaks against his lips. “Princess… daddy’s home… and I’ve been drinking.” 

Eli manages to wriggle his face free and spit that sour saliva from his mouth. 

“I can tell you— you fucking arse!“ he stammers with dawning fear, despite wanting to feel angry. 

Venom’s metallic palm digs roughly into the space between his thighs. Eli groans in pain, pressing his knees together. 

He isn’t sure if he wishes to trap the sensation or do away with it. It’s uncomfortable, but he wishes it wasn’t. He wishes Venom were softer, more pleasant. He’s equal parts confused and terrified. None of this feels right and he can’t place why; the man on top of him is taking what he wants, and it doesn’t feel like the father he’s grown to trust anymore. 

Eli is strong, but not nearly enough to deter a hand vigorously groping him. The metal is cold and uncomfortable, and he winces, drawing his breath in sharply with a pained gasp as Venom’s prosthetic pulls dryly at his overly-sensitive prick. He shouts, attempting to kick, hoping this is a nightmare that he can push back, wanting to still see his father the same way he has been thus far. 

This can’t be the Big Boss he knows, because that man is softer than the legends tell, and he would never make something like this hurt for Eli. 

Venom releases him for a split-second and Eli thinks it’s finally over, tries to crawl away, until he’s flipped onto his stomach and held down once again. His face is pushed into the pillows and he has to fight not to smother. A crushing weight pins him into the bed. He yelps at a stinging slap against his ass, and then another, and two hands begin spreading him open. 

His ass exposed to the air, steadily reddening, parted just enough to give Venom a look at his pink hole nestled there between his cheeks. Venom’s teeth rip the skin on the back of Eli’s neck, like an alpha mounting something it wants to ravage and own. Growling and sucking at flushed skin, he holds him in place and the pressure is enough that Eli thinks he may suffocate. 

“If anyone ever touches you here like this,” Venom huffs against his ear, “you tell daddy straight away, baby.”

Eli struggles against his broad chest as a means to get him to back off, and Venom seems to lower the entirety of his weight onto him at the pitiful attempt, grunting and growling. His small body writhes like a bug under someone’s boot, gasping and clutching at the sheets trying to drag himself out. He squeaks, cursing and begging. 

“F-Father you’re— you’re hurting—“

“Hush, sweetie… daddy doesn’t like back-talk.” 

Venom kisses the back of his neck, while simultaneously digging his finger roughly against Eli’s taut hole. Eli gasps, clutching the sheets. His vision is blurry and his lower abdomen aches, something painful emanating from the sting of his ass being stretched open. 

Fat fingers suddenly shove their way inside Eli’s mouth. He wriggles, thrashing like a violent little animal and daring to bite down. The second his serrated, undersized canines tear into the hand forcing its way down his throat, Venom hisses and withdraws. A heavy fist stronger than anything he’s ever withstood before crashes against his temple, the knuckles tearing and bludgeoning until a liquefied heat matts his hair in clumps. Eli doesn’t even make a sound at it. He pulls his limbs close and doesn’t dare to look back at his father, only sniffling, shielding his beet-red face. 

He doesn’t understand why this is happening. It doesn’t make sense. 

In every child’s mind, there’s a pitiful plea of ‘why me?’ at the forefront of their respective anguish. Something incessant, begging for explanation, unsure as to why it had to be them, yet Eli understands now, and he doesn’t pray to any insignificant god for mercy. He was right , before he let his guard be lowered by someone like his father. All adults are the same. He should’ve followed his gut. 

The last thing Eli is acutely conscious of is the suffocating pressure finally lifting off of him as he curls into a pitiful ball. He hides his face, and rough hands pull at his timid, little body. 

He’s afraid, as much as he hates to say it. Venom hooks both hands around the small groove of his hips where thigh meets waist, and pulls him back down, legs spread, a limp mass of splayed limbs and ragdolled visage. 

Eli doesn’t fight. He wants the softness back. He wants his father. 

Cold, dry fingers assault his every orifice once again. He pleads mutely around fingers reaching for the soft heat of his throat, pressing himself into the mattress to escape that of the same trying to wedge inside of his dry, twitching hole. 

“Father—“ he struggles until his mouth is free, but his voice is high and defeated. “Father, please… please stop— _oh, fu-uck.“_

There isn’t an ounce of resistance in him when Venom suddenly grasps a fistful of hair close to his scalp, violently pulling at his head and the small of his back, grinding his achingly hard cock so hard into Eli’s ass that he almost screams. 

“Watch your language, princess,” Venom growls. 

Eli convulses violently, crying against the pillows in muffled anguish. He hisses as the blunt head of Venom’s cock wedges itself beyond the taut, twitching halo of his asshole and presses forward. 

Venom’s full body weight once again crushes him, but it’s not that of a pressure trying to hold him in place. He’s rutting against his boy’s hole and trying to force himself inside, and he’s sighing against Eli’s neck, inhaling every scream Eli lets out, drunk, high, in heaven with pleasure. 

Eli is trapped. The pronounced bulge of Venom’s cock piercing his ass and the painful burn of humid air and dull teeth at the base of his neck so powerful that he feels like he may faint, and he almost wishes he would.

Venom’s eyes roll into the back of his head at a pleasure Eli couldn’t even begin to comprehend, spurred on and exacerbated tenfold by Ocelot’s little helping-hand extract. 

Teeth gnaw at his bony shoulder, biting down and ripping and drawing about as much blood as the cock pistoning in and out of his hole. “You’re tight, princess… you feel good for me… daddy loves you, you know that.”

Eli’s lungs are deflated, the breath knocked out of him as his face twists, his mouth a perfect ‘o’ at the awful sensation wrecking his body. He tries to tell his father that no, this _doesn’t_ feel good, that he _doesn’t_ feel loved. But it’s no use. 

“You know I love you, baby.” Venom’s hips pump relentlessly inward, dizzying Eli with every chafing drag along his inner walls. “Daddy loves you so, so much… I couldn’t bear to leave you alone… I had to come right back here and show you just how much I love you.” 

Eli is terrified. Utterly confused and afraid like he’s never been, because this is a foreign beast he’s never seen so much as a shadow of. He wants what was taken from him. He wants his father back. He wheezes, grasping the sheets below him and trying to make himself as flush with the mattress as possible, but Venom’s hands pull him back with every thrust. He manages to cry out pitifully, his voice hoarse and shaky. 

“Father, p-please stop. Please— _ah!”_ Painful jabs against that sweet spot inside his ass dull the pain, but certainly don’t outweigh it. He cries, snotting and begging. “You’re h-hurting me. I-I don't l-like this!” 

“That’s good, baby... let daddy hear you.” Venom’s hands card through his hair lovingly and the pads of his fingers are warm against his scalp, something that would be soft and soothing were the circumstances different. 

It’s then that Eli realizes how he’s foolishly depended on and adored this man, and for nothing in particular. It served no advantage to let him do the undressing, the kissing, the body-worshipping. He’s only landed himself in a place he cannot find a way out of, and it may just cost him his life. 

A man like this has been shaped by battle. He is numbed and ignorant to trivial things like morals and convictions, because his own lie stagnant unless in the midst of war. The stories were true, this man knows no mercy. 

Eli would slap himself for his own foolishness if he had the faculty to do so, but right now he’s not sure he’s fully conscious anymore. Everything felt rough until it became a dull agony, then ultimately neutral. And now he’s floating on delirium, deep in a dreamlike state of terror and exhaustion. 

Blood clumps in his hair and dries wads of once-blonde strands against his forehead, the crimson heat clogging his ears, flushing his eyes. He can’t decide if it’s tears taking his vision, or his own blood. 

The same type of fluid slowly oozes out of his ass, an undulating flow of wave-like pulsations coming with the pain, drawn out in droves by Venom’s cock penetrating him down to the ballsack. He’s hot, and the mattress below him is wet with a dozen fluids, and the moist heat of the sheets would suffocate him like a toddler in an inch of water, but he holds his head up high despite himself, despite how badly he wants to give in. He takes Venom’s relentless cock because he knows he doesn’t have a choice, and tries not to choke on the tightness of his own cotton-felt throat. 

His eyes screw shut as he’s rocked into the bed, his father’s pace brutal and erratic. Every fiber of his being burns, down to his core, he feels scorched and violated. Not an inch of him feels untainted. 

And yet, Venom’s words are sickeningly soft, addled with a love Eli cannot fathom the origin or intent of. 

“My little boy… you’re so pretty, baby,” Venom moans against his skin. “You mean the world to me… daddy thinks you’re perfect, sweetheart… daddy loves you so much he can’t help but get deep inside of you.” 

His hips stutter for a moment, the pace of his brutal thrusts becoming erratic and unsure as the ecstasy mounts and wanes, his pleasure-receptors dulled by the repurposed toxins coursing through his veins. 

He growls, angry and ferocious with frustration. “Go on and clench for me baby… make it tight for daddy.” 

Eli is unfazed as the painful delirium makes him neutral, mentally-checked out. He does as he’s told and he’s not sure whether he’s succeeded as that part of his body feels numb and loose and torn, and he can’t get a feel for exactly what’s going on. Venom seems to enjoy it, nonetheless. 

He groans, deeply satisfied noises a low rumble in Eli’s ear. 

“Just like that, sweetheart... that’s perfect.” 

Venom grunts as Eli whimpers in unison. The pain resembles pointed shards, no longer a single force but scattered pinpricks along his insides. A heat begins to swell inside his gut, pushed deeper inward by every thrust of his father’s cock that threatens to plug him till he bursts, and it’s more than Eli can take. 

He tries to squeeze it out, unknowingly providing more of a tight heat for Venom to fuck into. He milks his father’s cock without intention, coaxing out every ounce of seed as Venom pulsates inside of him, until he rides the final waves of his ecstasy and collapses like a pile of fallen bricks on top of Ei. 

He tries to wriggle free, and this time there’s no restrained pressure holding him down, only hundreds of pounds of pure muscle mass and lean, toned flesh on top of him. 

He struggles, gasping and clawing for purchase on whatever he can manage to cling to that isn’t a flimsy sheet. By the time he’s freed himself, he’s already gathered into a tiny ball and begun sobbing. 

That insect tucked away so neatly flashes him images of his knife. A part of Eli would use it right now, slit the throat of he who dared to draw vulnerability from him with deceit and selfish lies, but he feels incapable, somehow. 

Attachments aren’t so easily severed; never enough to be built and always a hard struggle when broken down. Eli can’t bring himself to do it. 

He eyes Venom’s limp mass as if he may come back to life for more of what he just did, drunk on the taste and eager for a second helping. The thought has Eli dashing to the bathroom on flimsy legs and locking the door before that drunken corpse gets any ideas of the sort. 

Fluid oozes down his legs, and he turns on the shower. 

It used to be a safe-haven, an excuse to avoid confrontation because arguments with _him_ felt awful, unnecessary. But now the bathtub serves as a sickening reminder. 

Eli tries using his fingers to clean himself out, scrubbing away at the breaks and tears in his skin, terrified that he’ll never be the same, that he’s allowed his father to ruin him. He lets the hot water run until it goes cold, and eventually stares at his own bruised reflection in the mirror. 

Ugly lacerations line the base of his neck, the rest scattered around his body in no particular fashion from Venom’s careless nails and hungry teeth. The seat of his ass is bright red, and his insides ache horribly. He feels ugly and exhausted. It doesn’t take him but another moment to slide down the tile wall and sob into himself pathetically. The little insect is there too, invisible but present, whispering to Eli sweet nothings of a place far away from here. It’s not much, and Eli wishes to be alone, but he enjoys the pleasant emotions being cast over the wall of their mental bond thoroughly. 

He stays like that until his fingers are wrinkled and his toes are pruny and peeling, continuously asking himself why this happened, why his father flipped on a dime like that. 

He knows why, he just doesn’t want to accept it. That their bond was nothing more than a lie for him to drop his guard. 

He lay against the floor with a bath towel as his blanket, and shivers, cold and alone, until sleep takes him. 

It's many hours before the sun rises over Mother Base. When it does, the boss is nowhere to be seen. 

Venom comes to.   
  
Eli finds a low rumble of excruciating groans to be what wakes him, and his own whimpers of pain mingle alongside them. In separate rooms, they claw at consciousness like a beast seeking to ail them, but only one knows of what transpired last night. 

Cotton-mouth, thick saliva squeezing his throat, the boss drags himself out of bed seeking any fluid he can get. Stumbling over his discarded pants, grunting and still halfway drunk from last night, he doesn’t question why he awoke in a pool of fluids. He pays no mind to what isn’t the paradise of a bathroom with its sink of flowing water. 

He tries the doorknob, but it’s locked. Eli must be inside, he concludes, despite his delirium. 

His voice doesn’t come right away. His throat scratchy, his body sore. “Eli, unlock the door for me.” 

There’s no response. 

He twists the knob. “I don’t feel well, sweetheart. Open the door.” 

Eli’s broken voice arises on the other side, muffled and high like a wounded prey animal’s panicked squeal. 

“G-Go away!” 

Venom sighs. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing but you need to open this door right now.” Bile rises up to the base of his throat. An unintentional overdose on borderline-toxins, no matter how widely used. He belches. “Open the door now, Eli.” 

The lock clicks, and Venom wastes no time stumbling through the door. 

A small body he would once call his son lay in a black-blue heap on the floor. Corralled back into himself, not an ounce of his usual demeanor. Venom is speechless at the sight. 

“Who did this—“ 

“I said go away!” Eli shouts, his knees up to his chest, lip quivering. “Y-You're a bloody liar… you did this to me and… and I… I...” 

The dam breaks, and Eli screams in anguish into his own arms, small, scraped limbs covering his face where tears stain his cheeks. 

“Eli, honey—“ Venom hurries to kneel beside him, but Eli feebly stands and scurries into the bathtub like a terrified animal. 

“Look at yourself!” He screeches, pointing at his father’s torso down to his flaccid length, every inch riddled with blood and semen congealed tightly against his skin. Crimson flakes off where milky-white stains and glues. The sight stuns the boss. “Look at what you did to me, to yourself! You’re… you’re a monster!” 

One single eye takes in the breadth of his damage, and Venom doesn’t want to see it for what it is. The dots don’t connect, because he won’t allow it. His little boy yells, cursing and growling and telling him to go away, to fuck off back to whatever hellhole he came out of. 

“Get the fuck away from me! Y-You piece of shit! Just go away!” 

Venom stumbles backward through the threshold and almost slips on blood smeared against the tiles. Eli’s words cut him deep, like a slap across the face, reality sets in. 

“I’m so sorry…” he mumbles, more to the air than Eli or himself, because neither are really hearing it. “How could I do this to you? Oh, Eli, my sweet boy…” 

“Leave me alone!”

One final screech, and Venom closes the door. He falls to his knees and wretches. 

It takes him no time at all to gather his clothes like a shambling corpse, with guilt and fear and shame a deep pit inside his heart. His hair is down, and he can’t find the tie he must’ve discarded, his weapons nowhere to be seen, fatigues missing their straps, belts lacking buckles. A boot lies woven between blood-soaked sheets but he doesn’t dare to touch it. He exits his quarters with sickly sweat beading down his brow and a panic to get away, anywhere but here. 

Eli needs space, he understands that. There’s no undoing what he did, but maybe with time, he tells himself, Eli will come around. The boy knows where his first-aid kit lay, and he’s been to the medical platform enough times that he should find his way there without being seen, if that’s what he wanted. Venom tells himself that there must be enough here for Eli to feel some type of obligation to him still, some obsession that lingers - whether it be hatred or otherwise. He’s banking on that, because without Eli, his cause is for nothing. 

His codec boasts a dozen different ops ranging from personnel retrieval to armored convoy disruption. He picks one at random and calls for a liftoff. The command platform’s helipad is swarming with far too many soldiers, each with questions about meaningless things he doesn’t have time to consider. 

He may have just done himself in for the worst, and he wants away from here. 

Ocelot suddenly approaches him as Pequod makes his rounds before landing. His smile is inviting, genuine. 

“Boss, I can't say I’ve ever seen you up so late.” They both watch as Ocelot’s gaze flicks down to his stained clothes and disheveled visage, proceeded by him promptly ignoring every detail. “You don’t look to be in very good condition. Not feeling up to the task today, I take it?” 

Confused, squinting at nothing in particular, Venom eyes him and lets his hazy mind speak for him. 

“What happened last night? What… what did I do?” 

Ocelot raises a brow. “What ever do you mean, boss?” 

He’s slippery and conniving, and everything boasting a smugness he has no right to brandish at such a time. But Venom won’t put the blame on him, he won’t shift his own sins onto another man. This was solely his doing. 

“I put Eli to bed and meant to address my men, and then you… you—“

“I think your ride is waiting, boss. Don’t let this op go unfinished, now.” Ocelot smiles at him with sincerity. He waves a hand, backing off. “We’ll talk when you get back, if this really is such a pressing matter. You always know where to find me.” 

Rotor blades throw him off balance as his ride hovers close by. The codec chimes with announcement of Pequod’s arrival, and Venom slinks back to the one place he knows best. He boards the chopper, putting Mother Bass behind him, and his son too. Unknowingly for good this time. 

Eli is alone now, a mere boy all by himself. His father a deadbeat, his only family taken from him and he’s not sure there was ever anything there to salvage in the first place. 

He’s left the bathroom and locked the entrance to the boss’ quarters, a little more sure of himself. A series of knocks startle him, however. 

He stares at the door, still and unmoving. Ocelot’s voice is a welcomed sound, because at the very least it isn’t his father’s. 

“Eli, is everything alright in there?” 

Eli hurriedly rushes to unlock the door. He invites Ocelot in before checking the hallway on either side for the boss. Ocelot smiles at the vague terror he emanates. Eli slams the door and locks it, pressing his back against it firmly and squinting at Ocelot. 

“You certainly seem to be—“ 

“Did my father send you?”

Ocelot tilts his head. “Is there a particular reason he would have?” 

Eli hugs himself closely, limbs a trembling mess, his legs gelatinous under the meager weight of his body. 

“N-No.” 

Ocelot can tell there’s more he wants to say. The boy’s eyes drift from one side of the room to the other, jumping at shadows, pacing in place with one busted lip snagged between his teeth. Curiously, Ocelot doesn’t comment on his appearance. Eli doesn’t know it, but his fright is Ocelot’s glee, reflected back, and furthermore confirmation that his plan worked. 

Ocelot doesn’t make a show out of retrieving the first-aid kit out from under the boss’ bed. He unceremoniously grabs it without much of a word, and sits, patting the mattress beside him. Eli eyes him cautiously, but ultimately climbs up next to him. 

Ocelot begins dabbing alcohol-soaked pads against his open cuts. Those which form crescent half-moons along his jaw and throat, he takes extra caution when touching. He isn’t here to help, though. At least, not to help Eli. 

“The boss is… a complicated man. There’s no delicate way to put it. You either love him in his entirety or you don’t at all.”

Eli shakes his head, curling into himself with a dangerous glare so stiff, it would make any man’s blood curdle. 

“I do _not… love_ him.” 

Ocelot gingerly massages the back of his neck, providing meager comfort to aching flesh beneath blotches of discolored skin. 

“Sure you do. He’s your father, after all. You can’t help who you love.” 

Eli doesn’t entertain his words any further. He hugs himself tightly, still trembling. 

“But of course, we can’t help who we hate, either. And you hate him just as much as you love him, don’t you?”

Eli thinks for a moment, and cautiously nods. 

“You want him to suffer for what he’s done to you, but you don’t wish death upon him, do you?” 

To this, Eli shrugs. 

“What if you could have the best of both worlds? Ensure that he’d never lay a hand on you again while still letting him live. Although, you do know that leaving would break his heart.” Ocelot feigns a frown, tilting his head down with sympathy. “That wouldn’t be good for morale.”

“I don’t care. Big Boss can rot in hell…” 

“Well, good then,” Ocelot says with an understanding smile. “There’s an out for you yet, if you’re willing to act fast.” 

To this, Eli sits up a little straighter. He stares intently at Ocelot, waiting for him to continue. 

“That little stunt you pulled that almost drove the R&D platform under sea-level was about as close to a perfect departure as you could’ve gotten. I’d suggest you and that… _strange_ friend of yours try it again, but it’s common knowledge now that Sahelanthropus is under safe watch by the good doctor Emmerich, meaning it’s no longer easy pickings. It’s likely finished any repairs it was due to undergo, so it’s not out of commission. It’s only a matter of you finding the right opportunity to take it back.” 

“I can’t just… steal it back. It’s too big to sneak out and I can’t get anywhere near it. My fath— Big Boss told the guards not to let me back on the platform.” 

“Did you really think that was meant to be anything more than a measly deterrent? You should know by now that he wouldn’t keep you from going anywhere you pleased, if you made a big enough fuss.” 

“I don’t know what he fucking thinks about _anything_ …” Eli shrugs, looking away. “What are you getting at?” 

Ocelot sighs, carefully tucking away the medical supplies he’d opened up, wadding the wrappers, screwing caps. He gives Eli a sly glance. 

“It doesn’t matter who’s to blame, someone always takes the fall for things that happen around here. Nothing happens by accident, you understand? It’s chopped up as collateral, and no one ever pays it a second thought. We don’t hold trials, only convictions for the next runner-up in the blame game.”

Eli squints. “I-I don’t—“ 

“If I give you an opening, no questions asked, for you to leave undeterred, would you take it knowing that someone else may take the fall? Could you live with that on your conscience if it meant freedom from Big Boss?” 

Eli’s expression turns deathly serious. He nods, a crystal-clear understanding, sure of himself. “I would.”

“Good.” 

Ocelot stands and makes his way to the door before stopping. He glances back at Eli. 

“Big Boss won’t bounce back from this as quickly as you may think. I’d give him a solid forty-eight hours before he finally works up the nerve to get back here and face you. He isn’t a straightforward man when guilt is involved. His… _morals_ tend to complicate things. I don’t understand it myself.” He utters those words with disgust, curling his lip. “You won’t have to worry about him returning in time to stop you, or anything similar to what happened last time. I’ll take care of Emmerich. I trust that you’re still capable of giving a few of us stupid adults the slip, even in your condition.” 

Eli crosses his arms. “Don’t worry about what I can do. I’m… perfectly fine,” he assures. He still looks to be cradling himself. Ocelot rolls his eyes. 

“Of course. You’ll find Sahelanthropus free of Emmerich within the next few hours, so if you’ve got any final business to attend to, I’d suggest you get it done now.” He opens the door to leave, pausing to narrow his eyes at Eli. “Don’t waste your chance this time. You won’t get another like it.” 

Just like that, he’s gone, and Eli is alone once again. 

The quiet boy floating nearby materializes, and quickly cowers behind Eli. He carefully drifts messages down the mental stream which connects them, like letters in bottles, surrounding them in isolation as they convene wordlessly. 

“Is he being serious?” 

Eli doesn’t know Ocelot’s game, but he can’t help his curiosity steadily dying down, even despite the mysteriousness of the whole ordeal. He’s unsure of himself, but he wants this so bad. It’s what he’s been striving for since he got here. 

The floating boy shrugs. His mental input is just as unsure as Eli’s, as it would seem they’re both clueless as to what Ocelot has going on inside his head. 

“It doesn’t matter anyway. If he tries anything, I’ll kill him,” he says. “I’m not staying here another night. I’m leaving and you’re coming with me!”

Of course, the little insect on his shoulder follows him in silent stride, and takes his word for it in every instance, because he has no choice. Between the two of them, he wouldn’t really say no even if he could. 

“I’ll make Big Boss pay for this one day…” his fists ball, weakened by his battered state but still clenched hard enough to tremble. “I’ll kill him if I have to!” 

One small, skeletal hand in his own, and Eli too disappears in a messy puff of particles. 

Ocelot was right; it ended up taking the boss well over two days to return to base. His work in the field was of piss-poor effort, and he performed every task without a breather in between. Coming back meant facing Eli, but most importantly, facing himself. He was bound to drag it out as long as he could. 

Upon his arrival, Kaz read him a report of the unfortunate events that had transpired while he was away 

Not only did Eli show away on a vessel he’d already previously attempted to leave with, but this time he took all but a handful of the remaining child soldiers with him. With one pilot and accompanying chopper missing, along with Metal Gear Sahelanthropus, nobody has a single answer to the question of just _how_ this happened. One doctor Emmerich has been apprehended and charged with coercing child soldiers to aid him in defacing Diamond Dogs’ property, and rendering the surrounding surveillance equipment ineffective for reasons that are anyone’s best guess, but beyond that, everyone is at a loss. The only upside to this is that there were no casualties. 

Big Boss makes no show of changing his behavior towards the men beneath him. Business resumes just as usual, and Ocelot is more than happy to help his new and improved boss - who now comes with an added side of apathy, the type that’s hard-earned, never lost easily, either - with anything he may need. As anticipated, morale drops, fights break out, but what more can be expected from dogs of war. 

A rescued pilot and his fuelless chopper don’t dampen Ocelot’s mood, either. Not even when he gets word that a certain brat has been found and located. 

The evil that lives deep down inside of the boss can be brought out at any time. Big Boss knows that now, and he won’t try to rekindle the flame between himself and his illegitimate son any time soon. They’re over, and that’s perfectly fine with Ocelot. 

He’s a demon, and he knows it. And Heaven’s no place for sons of Big Boss anyway. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was just an excuse to write eli rape... I’m so sorry...

**Author's Note:**

> Don’t worry, guys. He’s just on his way to tuck Eli in for bed and kiss him goodnight, that’s all :)


End file.
